LISTENING

By Wendy : Shywalker

I can hear the echo of his heartbeat,
his footsteps, they shuffle with an empty gait.
His despair beats with resounding thunder,
his mind speeds at a great rate.

I hear his mind as it searches,
for the things he should have done.
Trying to change with wishful thinking,
the things that have already gone.

I hear his fingers, flexing with anger,
at the pain they have caused.
His voice repeating,
a thousand times, "I used to be sure."

I listened to his rain,
as it stormed down to his soul.

My son, I heard;
I listened and heard it all.